


A Supermarket Shock

by rei_c



Series: Stiles Stilinski: Vongola Sky [18]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Human Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Sky Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Stiles is grocery shopping with Hebe when they run into someone that they weren't expecting to see.
Series: Stiles Stilinski: Vongola Sky [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1155296
Comments: 22
Kudos: 386





	A Supermarket Shock

Stiles stands in front of the tomatoes, one hand on his hip, the fingers of his other hand curled under his chin. He frowns, says, "Well, now I just feel bad for getting upset. And ugh, I'm going to have to apologise."

Hebe, leaning against the cart, makes a noise in the back of her throat. "Why?" she asks.

"Because it's clearly not their fault they've been coming back with substandard produce when the selection's so bad." Stiles reaches out, lifts a couple tomatoes and looks underneath, makes a frustrated, dismissive noise. 

"You don't need to apologise," Hebe says. "You didn't even get mad at them. Not _really_." 

Stiles makes a face. He's been sending the Vongola staff to do the grocery shopping since he got back to Beacon Hills a couple weeks ago -- it's been nice, not having to worry about running that errand, and convenient, too, that he can just make a list and send someone else off to do the grunt work. The last few trips, though, have been disappointing; the produce his people have been bringing back have all looked sad, half-withered, on the verge of going bad, full of spots and bruises. Everything from apples to zucchini and back again, and it's not like Stiles cares, most of the time, since everything's getting baked or grilled or turned into sauce, but he wanted to make a tomato salad for dinner and none of the ones he has at home look good enough to present. 

He glances over the other bins, scans the shopping list Hebe's carrying, and sighs. "Guess we're heading to the fancy store."

\--

The 'fancy store' isn't a Whole Foods but it's close, easily just as expensive with the clientele to match. Stiles would shop here more often -- they have a huge organic section, not to mention a truly intimidating selection of alternative milks -- but the last three times he's tried running in to pick up some gluten-free cake or broccoli chips, he's run into one of the Whittemores and that's just -- no. He glances over the parking lot while he and Hebe are walking in and doesn't see any of their cars, so he feels safe enough for now. 

Hebe grabs a cart and leads Stiles to the produce section. Stiles feels himself relaxing when he looks over the displays and shelves and bins -- everything looks beautiful. The prices, when he gets close enough to see them, have him wincing, but he's Vongola now and has access to the Vongola accounts; the exorbitant prices won't dent his budget but he's still not exactly used to paying them. 

He and Hebe make quick work of the vegetable section, getting everything on their list and then some, and head towards the fruit. The peaches look big and plump, the strawberries bright red and gleaming, and Stiles is debating over the blackberries when a familiar voice interrupts him. 

"Not your usual store, is it," Lydia Martin says. Stiles turns around, looks at her, blinks. "Goes along with the clothes, though." She smiles, one of those sharp, haughty smiles that doesn't make it up to her eyes. "Good to know your family's upgrades are lasting, I suppose. They'll be pleased to know their _time_, at least, wasn't wasted on you." 

Stiles' flame goes ice-cold with fury. He's just on the verge of telling her that he was sure she'd been killed by now, sliced apart with surgical precision so as to discover what really makes her _tick_, when a shock of burning sun knocks him out of his killing rage. Hebe's hand grips tight on his arm and, when he looks at her, he sees that she looks just as furious as she feels. 

"Still don't like you," Hebe tells Lydia, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. "_Vaffanculo a chi_ \--"

Stiles puts his hand over Hebe's mouth, keeps it there even when she bites his palm. "Polite, Hebe," he tells her. "If you're going to insult someone, at least do it in a language they understand." Hebe snarls and Stiles takes his hand away even as he coils a flame around Hebe. "Why don't you go pick out some ice cream," he suggests. Hebe turns her narrowed eyes on him and Stiles holds her gaze calmly. 

"Why didn't Verde kill her?" she asks, thankfully in Italian. "I thought he was going to kill her." 

"It was implied," Stiles says, thinking back to every conversation he's had with his lightning. "He never outright said that was his plan, though. Maybe he's running experiments on her before he kills her." He frowns, pulls out his phone and texts Verde, ruffles Hebe's hair once he's done. "Ice cream, Hebe." 

Hebe mutters under her breath, glares at Lydia, and heads for the freezer aisles. Stiles watches her go with a smile -- how can he not? -- but Lydia snorts as soon as Hebe's out of sight. 

"She's a vicious little thing," Lydia says. "Barely housebroken. You and Peter picking up feral strays in Italy, are you, Stiles? Or did your family give up on you and decide that she'd be a better use of their funds and attention?" 

"I used to think the attitude was attractive, Lydia," Stiles says. "I was wrong. It's not attractive, you're just a bitch."

There's a hint of fury in Lydia's eyes, something dismissive and disgusted in the curve of her lips. It seems as though she wants to walk away, turn in a perfectly executed cut direct, flipping her hair dismissively over her shoulder, but she buries down the urge enough to say, "I suppose it's a -- well, not a _good_ thing I ran into you here, but a convenient thing at least. You owe me answers, Stiles." 

Stiles tilts his head and lets out a humourless laugh to go with the crooked grin taking over his lips. "I don't owe you anything, Lydia," he says, "but I suppose I can humour you until Hebe gets back. So. What is it that you want to know so desperately that you'd willingly approach me in public?" She opens her mouth and Stiles warns her, "Pick carefully. Hebe won't take too much longer." 

Lydia narrows her eyes, asks, bluntly, "Am I safe from Peter?" 

That -- is not where Stiles thought she was going to go. How interesting. "Safe in what way?" Stiles asks in return. "From his teeth? Yes. From his machinations? No. No one is." 

"You are," Lydia retorts. Her tone rings with hate. How Stiles never heard it before is honestly baffling. Love -- or at least obsession -- really did blind him. "Why is that, Stiles? Why would a mass-murdering psychopath listen to _you_, of all people?" 

"First of all, I don't think he's really a psychopath." Stiles feels warmth filling his sky, looks past Lydia to see Hebe stalking her way back to them. The frozen yogurt she's carrying drips condensation onto the floor. "Second," he says, meeting Lydia's eyes again, "I don't think we can really count him as mass-murdering, when --" 

Lydia cuts him off, hisses, "Stop wasting my time, Stiles, and answer the damn question." 

Stiles gives her a smile, something tight and full of teeth. He lets his eyes flare bright with his sky, can see more than hear her in-drawn breath. "Because he's my pack. _Mine_." 

"Your eyes aren't red." Lydia sounds shaken, kicked off her high horse. Stiles would _glory_ in it if he wasn't more concerned about the way that Hebe's flame is starting to leak out of her control and rot the fruits and vegetables around them. "How can you be -- you're not a wolf. What are you?" 

"Mine," Hebe says. She drops the two half-gallons of frozen yogurt in Stiles' cart, melted liquid dripping out from under the lids, and stands next to him with her hands clenched into fists. "He's mine, and Peter's, and Verde's. He's our family's and he's not _yours_. So go away and leave us alone." 

Lydia sneers but the expression seems shaken, unstable at its very foundation. "Your precious _Verde_ has hired me as a lab assistant." 

Hebe laughs and Stiles can't help chuckling at hearing the viciousness in the sound. "Enjoy that," she says, "while you still can." Hebe reaches out, then, and wraps a slightly sticky hand around Stiles', looks at him as if Lydia has ceased to exist. "Blackberries," she says in Italian. "Yes or no?" 

"Yes," Stiles says, replying to her in Italian as well, watching her with an indulgent smile. "Three packages. And then we'll go exchange the frozen yogurt for real ice cream. Dad had sun flames run through his system all summer; his cholesterol's good enough for ice cream. Or gelato?" 

"Gelato!" Hebe says, grabbing three punnets of blackberries and dropping them in the cart, giving Stiles an eager smile. "Come on, Stiles, _gelato_." 

Hebe leads the way, almost skipping with excitement. Stiles is more than pleased to follow her and leave Lydia behind, alone and forgotten and grinding her teeth together in rage.


End file.
